


pumpkin spice

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Series: fictober 2020 [6]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fictober 2020, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: No, it doesn’t sound awful when you say it aloud, but just imagine: I could have died never knowing the way Simon’s lips felt against mine, never having felt our hearts pound in a rhythm together. Instead, I have all of that and now must live with the knowledge that one day I won’t.It’s a fate crueler than death, having to experience the world without Simon Snow beside me.He’s bested me.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: fictober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949911
Comments: 16
Kudos: 91





	pumpkin spice

**Author's Note:**

> day six! pumpkin spice! 
> 
> enjoy some top tier baz being dramatic af, but ultimately just some husbands getting coffee and enjoying their lives
> 
> i actually think i really like this one? (i did when i finished it, but then i got too critical and it's taken me approximately an hour to get through finally posting it aksgja) 
> 
> note: i hold nothing against the pumpkin spice latte or those that enjoy it, i'm all for people enjoying what they want, come december you know i'm a basic bitch with my peppermint mochas so pls dont @ me

**BAZ**

All I want is to see Simon Snow thriving.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted, really, even when I was supposed to want him to fail. I wanted him to best me, and best me he did. He didn’t kill me. No, that would’ve been too easy. That would’ve been a more preferable ending, I’m sure.

Instead, he fell in love with me. I was already in love with him, had been since we were teenagers, and so he met me _there_ rather than on the battlefield. He kissed me in a burning forest, then again on the floor of my childhood bedroom. There have been so many more kisses since, and there are still many to come. (I hope.) Each one is like another nick of his sword, he’s bleeding me out slowly with his lips.

He’s just as talented with them as he is with a sword, it makes sense.

Rather than end my life at the ripe age of eighteen and let me die pathetically in his arms, staring into his stupidly unremarkable blue eyes until the darkness took me… He loved me. He _loves_ me. He gave me every single dream my adolescent mind had come up with and _more_.

The bastard.

No, it doesn’t sound awful when you say it aloud, but just imagine: I could have died never knowing the way Simon’s lips felt against mine, never having felt our hearts pound in a rhythm together. Instead, I have all of that and now must live with the knowledge that one day I _won’t_.

It’s a fate crueler than death, having to experience the world without Simon Snow beside me.

He’s bested me.

And I’m _glad_. Not only because of the obvious, but because I get to see him as we grow older and change from our previous selves. He’s no longer the gangly boy that I met again at the beginning of every school year. He’s no longer a pawn in an impossible game that keeps his life out of his hands. He’s no longer Simon Snow, the Chosen One.

Now he’s a man with a bit of a gut and wispy hairs on his chin when he ultimately forgets to shave for a day or three. Now he’s making his own decisions, living his own life by his own rules, and thriving.

Now he’s Simon Snow-Pitch. My husband.

And now… he’s a _basic_ _bitch_.

It’s October again and he’s dragging me behind him to Starbucks, where he’s going to flawlessly order my personal concoction of a Pumpkin Mocha Breve with an exasperated nod over his shoulder as if asking the barista to not blame him for the complexity of bullshit spewing out of his mouth. (I know it’s highly specific, which is why I rarely order it. But Simon insists because it’s my favorite.)

Then, with a soft smile and not an ounce of shame, he’s going to order a —

“Grande pumpkin spice latte.”

The barista nods and asks for a name as Simon swipes my card, then Simon’s hand is in mine again as he pulls me with him to the pick-up counter.

“I can’t believe you have the audacity to judge my drink of choice when you always order _that_ monstrosity.” I stand behind Simon with my hands on his waist, resting my chin judgmentally on his shoulder when he leans back against me.

“Baz, the only difference between our drinks is that mine won’t rot your teeth on sight,” he laughs. I can feel it rumble through him, his back vibrating against my chest. “Also, it’s easier to order.”

“PSLs are not a personality trait,” I say against his neck, tone pitched up just a bit to mimic Bunce. Every year without fail we’ll hear her recite this over a dozen times to her laptop or phone screen. The imitation makes Simon laugh again and warmth blooms in my chest at the sound.

“Neither is being a prick,” he remarks, half-heartedly shoving me in the chest with his shoulder. I rock back on my heels, wrapping my arms around his waist to bring him with me and righting us again. “Though you’ve managed to turn it into a sport.”

“Oh, shut up.” I bury my nose in the crook of his neck again, placing a kiss wherever my lips can reach.

“Make me,” he challenges. I raise my head and an eyebrow at once, taking in his ridiculous attempt at a smirk. He’s smiling too hard to come off as anything but an absolute git. I kiss him right there in the middle of Starbucks.

_“Simon!”_

We part when another barista calls his name, sliding two cups across the counter with a smile on her face. Simon grins back as he steps forward and grabs them, thanks her, and I see the moment her smile turns from one of forced customer service to genuine. Simon has that effect on people, even still. The moment you lay your eyes on him, everything just feels balanced and _okay_ for the briefest of moments.

He may have bested me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not the luckiest mage (mostly) alive. I get to experience that moment more times in a day than I probably deserve. I get to walk out of a coffee shop hand in hand with the human embodiment of sunshine, and watch his delighted grin after he has his first sip of pumpkin spice latte.

We’re stopped on a corner when he hums and takes another gulp, this time leaving a drop of coffee behind on his upper lip. I lean in without a thought and swipe it off with my tongue, then pull his top lip into my mouth for good measure. I’d hate to let any of his precious coffee go to waste. He tastes like cinnamon and spice, and everything nice. It’s an effort to pull away rather than snog him right there in the middle of the crowded street.

His eyes look a bit dazed when I pull away. I smirk and sip at my own drink, turning and continuing on our way. “Mine is better,” I declare. Simon snorts and tugs at my arm.

“If you wanted a taste you just had to ask.” He waves his cup toward me but I shake my head.

“Sorry, Snow, but that was probably the only way I can enjoy one of those.”

“You admit you liked it!” Simon exclaims, dropping my hand to point a finger in my face. I try to scoff and knock it away, but it comes out as a choking laugh instead.

Simon collects my hand in his again when I swat at him, interlocking our fingers, and leans into my side with a shit-eating grin stretched across his face.

“Don’t worry,” he starts, fake-whispering conspiratorially. “I won’t let Penny know you’ve lost your personality and succumbed to the life of a lowly PSL-loving basic bitch.”

This is the Simon Snow I’ve always wanted to see. Laughing, joking, and enjoying life one pumpkin spice latte at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: [@pipsqueakparker](https://pipsqueakparker.tumblr.com/)


End file.
